6:00 PM.
Odd sat on the edge of his bed in the holding cell, hands clasped together, staring at the floor.
The door had sealed hours ago. Guards changed shifts outside. Cameras watched from the corners. Everything continued around him while he sat alone with his thoughts.
Davis Brown was missing.
And they thought he had something to do with it.
Or that King did.
Or both of them together.
Odd replayed the interrogation in his mind. Mike Ross's questions. The implications. The way they'd connected dots between him and King, built a narrative from training sessions and circumstantial timing.
It made sense, in a way. If you didn't know King. If you only saw the surface.
But Odd had spent weeks training with him. Had seen how he moved, how he thought, how he approached problems with that calm analytical precision. King didn't act on impulse. Didn't make emotional decisions. Everything was calculated, measured, controlled.
So why did doubt keep creeping in?
Odd thought back to Round 2 Fight 3. Monster versus Iron Clad Wang.
He'd been sitting in the fighter section when it happened. When Monster's body had shrunk down, revealing what it really was.
A girl. Fifteen years old. Jessie Lin.
The arena had gone silent. Even the bloodthirsty crowd seemed disturbed.
Wang had knelt in the blood-soaked sand, crying, broken by the realization of what he'd done.
And that executive—the one with the wide smile, the one who'd controlled Monster—had stood up. Odd couldn't hear what he said to his assistants from that distance, but he saw the smile. That inappropriate, satisfied smile while looking at a dead child's body.
Odd had felt sick watching it.
Then King had spoken.
Odd remembered it clearly. The way King's expression had shifted—just for a moment, that careful mask slipping to show something cold and dangerous underneath.
Odd had said something. About how nobody would do anything about it.
And King had stood up, his voice quiet but certain.
"Someone will."
Not "something should be done." Not "that's wrong."
Just a simple statement. Someone will.
Like it was already decided.
Odd stared at the cell wall, thinking about that moment.
The same executive who'd controlled Monster—who'd turned a traumatized child into a weapon—was the one in the operations office now. The one asking questions. Building suspicion. Pointing fingers at Odd and King.
Could it be that he'd sponsored Davis too?
And if he had... if King had recognized that connection...
Odd shook his head. No. King didn't seem like someone who'd act on impulse. Who'd risk everything over revenge, no matter how justified.
But then again, Odd had seen the look in King's eyes during that Monster fight. Had heard the certainty in his voice.
Someone will.
Maybe something else had happened. Maybe Davis had threatened someone King cared about. Maybe there was context Odd didn't know.
Or maybe King really was just training him to help, and Davis's disappearance was completely unrelated.
Odd wanted to believe that. Needed to believe that.
Because if King had actually done something... then Odd's training, his hope of advancing, all of it was built on a foundation that could collapse at any moment.
He buried his face in his hands.
"God, I don't know what to think anymore."
---
In the tournament operations office, the four officials and Mike Ross had been reviewing security footage for hours.
Malik Hayes rubbed his eyes, scowl deepening with exhaustion. "This is the third pass through the same corridors. He didn't just vanish into thin air."
"Maybe he found a way to avoid the cameras," Robert Zhang suggested nervously. "Somehow slipped past our coverage?"
"Overlapping camera angles cover every major route," Marcus Webb said, examining the displays. "If he moved through normal corridors, we'd see him."
Jennifer Chou scrolled through her tablet methodically. "Last confirmed sighting: Davis Brown exiting the arena floor after Round 2 Fight 4 conclusion. Friday versus King. Time stamp: 4:48 PM. Davis proceeded from the arena exit toward the general direction of the medical and residential areas."
"And then?" Malik asked.
"And then nothing. He disappears from coverage."
Mike Ross sat at the end of the table, that wide smile fixed in place, watching the officials work. His two assistants stood behind him—one holding a tablet, the other a slim briefcase.
"Executive Ross," Malik said, turning to face him. "Davis Brown was your fighter. Correct?"
"That's correct," Mike replied pleasantly.
"What can you tell us about his abilities? Anything that might explain how he could avoid detection?"
Mike's smile widened slightly. "Davis had certain... adaptive capabilities. But I'd prefer to keep the specifics of my fighter's abilities confidential. Competitive advantage, you understand."
Malik's scowl deepened but he nodded. In the Underground, fighters' abilities were often proprietary information for their sponsors.
One of Mike's assistants leaned forward, speaking quietly to the officials. "If I may, sirs. We've reviewed the facility layout extensively. There are ancillary rooms along the routes Davis could have taken. Restrooms, storage areas, maintenance access."
The other assistant activated a display, showing the facility map with highlighted sections. "Based on his last known position and trajectory, there are three possible locations where he might have entered: a storage closet near corridor junction B, a maintenance access point near the fighter residential section, or a restroom facility in the medical area corridor."
Marcus pulled up camera angles for each location. "Check footage for all three."
They worked through the recordings systematically.
Storage closet: No one entered or exited during the relevant timeframe.
Maintenance access: Sealed, requires special credentials. No access logs for that time period.
The third location remained.
"That leaves the restroom," Jennifer said. "Medical area corridor. Let me pull those cameras."
The screen showed the corridor from multiple angles. They watched the timestamp carefully.
4:48 PM - Various personnel moving through. Routine traffic.
4:49 PM - A figure appeared, walking through the corridor. The cameras caught him from behind, heading toward the restroom area, but the angle didn't provide clear identification.
4:50 PM - The same figure seemed to enter the restroom.
"Can we get a clearer image?" Malik asked. "Confirm identity?"
Marcus worked the controls, trying different angles, enhancing resolution. The images remained frustratingly unclear—caught between camera coverage zones, partially obscured by corridor architecture.
"The coverage here isn't optimal," Marcus admitted. "That corridor wasn't considered high priority for monitoring. We have cameras, but the angles leave gaps."
"What about interior restroom cameras?" Robert asked.
Jennifer checked her tablet. "That facility doesn't have interior cameras. Privacy regulations for non-monitored areas."
"No interior cameras?" Malik's scowl somehow deepened further.
"Well, there were interior cameras installed," Jennifer clarified, scrolling through maintenance records. "But they've been non-functional for... looks like about two weeks. Scheduled for repair but the work order wasn't prioritized. That restroom sees minimal use—mostly overflow when the main facilities are crowded."
Mike Ross leaned forward slightly, his assistants flanking him. "So we have someone entering a restroom without functional cameras. And Davis Brown vanishing around the same time."
"We can't confirm it was Davis who entered," Marcus said carefully. "The image quality doesn't allow positive identification."
"But the timing matches," one of Mike's assistants observed. "Davis disappears from coverage at 4:48 PM. Someone enters that restroom area around 4:55 PM. That's consistent with Davis's projected route and walking speed."
The officials exchanged glances.
"We need to examine that location more carefully," Malik decided. "And check if anyone else entered that restroom before Davis was reported missing."
They reviewed more footage, checking the hours that followed.
Various personnel passed through the corridor over the next few hours. Medical staff. A few fighters. Routine traffic.
"Wait," Marcus said, pausing the footage. "There. 8:20 PM."
The screen showed a figure in combat attire—black pants, gray shirt—moving through the corridor toward the medical area. The cameras caught him from a better angle this time.
King.
He appeared to stop briefly near the restroom area, though the exact actions were difficult to determine from the camera angle. Then he continued toward the medical entrance.
"King checked into medical for post-fight treatment at 8:35 PM," Jennifer confirmed, checking records. "Matches his stated timeline from interrogation."
"So King passed through that corridor," Malik said slowly. "Hours after Davis potentially entered that restroom."
Mike Ross's smile remained fixed. "Interesting coincidence."
"Just because King passed through that corridor doesn't mean—" Robert began.
"Of course not," Mike interrupted smoothly. "I'm simply observing the timeline. Davis disappears. Hours later, one of the two individuals we've been questioning passes through the same area. It's worth noting."
One of Mike's assistants spoke up again. "If I may, sirs. We should also consider the training relationship between King and Odd. Multiple documented sessions. Extensive instruction. That level of investment suggests something beyond simple goodwill."
"We've already discussed that possibility," Malik said.
"Yes sir. I'm simply suggesting that when you combine the training relationship with King's presence in the area where Davis likely disappeared... the pattern becomes more noteworthy."
The officials were quiet for a moment, processing.
"We need to bring them back in," Marcus finally said. "Ask them specifically about this location. See how they respond."
Malik nodded. "Agreed. But not just interrogation this time."
"Sir?"
Malik stood, his expression grim. "We've been investigating for hours. Found circumstantial evidence but nothing concrete. This could drag on for days with no resolution. Meanwhile, the tournament is suspended, fighters are getting restless, and we're no closer to answers."
"What are you suggesting?" Jennifer asked.
"A tribunal," Malik said. "Formal proceeding. Present the evidence publicly. Let them respond publicly. Put it to a jury vote."
Robert Zhang looked uncomfortable. "A tribunal? That's... that's usually reserved for serious accusations."
"A sponsored fighter is missing," Malik said flatly. "That's serious enough."
Mike Ross's smile widened. "I think that's an excellent idea. A public proceeding would allow all evidence to be examined thoroughly. And it would be... entertaining for everyone involved."
His assistants nodded in agreement.
"Executive Ross, you'd be willing to participate?" Marcus asked.
"Of course. Davis was my fighter. I have a vested interest in determining what happened." Mike's tone remained pleasant, conversational. "I'd be happy to help present the case."
Malik looked at the other officials. They nodded one by one.
"Alright. We'll convene a tribunal. Bring the suspects to the arena. We'll need time to set up properly."
"How long?" Jennifer asked.
"Two hours. Have everything ready by 8 PM."
The officials began moving immediately, coordinating logistics, issuing orders.
Mike Ross remained seated, that smile never wavering, as his assistants quietly handled communications and preparations.
Everything was proceeding exactly as he'd hoped.
---
7:30 PM.
The holding cell door opened with a mechanical clunk.
"Odd. Let's go."
Odd stood, heart rate increasing. "Where?"
"Move."
He was escorted down the corridor, two guards flanking him. They stopped at another door, where another set of guards was bringing out Lucius.
The two fighters looked at each other briefly.
Lucius's expression was neutral, unreadable. But Odd caught something in his eyes—a warning, maybe. Or calculation.
They were led down the corridor together, guards maintaining careful distance.
Odd leaned slightly toward Lucius, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Did you—"
"No." Lucius's voice was quiet but firm. "I didn't."
"But that executive, the one who—"
"Be very careful what you say," Lucius interrupted, his tone carrying an edge. "Think before you speak. Don't get emotional."
Odd swallowed hard. "The executive in there. The one asking questions. That's the same one who controlled Monster, isn't it?"
"Most likely Davis's sponsor. Yes."
"So if you—"
"I didn't do anything," Lucius repeated, his voice level. "But he's going to try making it seem like I did. Like we both did. So stay calm. Don't react. Don't give him anything to work with."
They reached an intersection. But instead of turning toward the interrogation rooms, the guards directed them down a different path.
Toward the arena.
Odd blinked. "Where are we going?"
The guards didn't answer.
The corridor opened into the arena entrance tunnel. Lights ahead. Sounds of crowd noise.
They emerged into the arena proper.
And stopped.
The entire space had been transformed.
The pit—where fighters had battled, where blood had been spilled—was now arranged like a courtroom.
A raised platform had been constructed at the center, elevated several feet above the sand. A long table sat on the platform with chairs behind it—clearly meant for judges or officials. Two smaller tables faced the main platform from opposite sides, each with several chairs.
The arena barriers that usually protected the crowd remained active, but additional temporary seating had been erected around the pit's edges, tiered to give everyone clear sightlines. The fighter section and executive section were still separated, but both had been expanded.
Cameras were everywhere. Multiple angles. Professional recording equipment.
The crowd was already gathering. Fighters filtering in, taking seats. Executives arriving in their section. Staff moving through, organizing, preparing.
This wasn't just an investigation anymore.
It was a show.
Odd stared, trying to process what he was seeing. "What the hell is this?"
Lucius's expression remained controlled, but his eyes tracked everything—the setup, the cameras, the positioning of officials, the crowd composition.
"A tribunal," he said quietly. "They're making it entertainment."
Guards escorted them down into the pit, across the sand, up onto the platform. They were directed to one of the side tables—clearly the defendant's area.
Odd sat down heavily, hands shaking slightly. Lucius sat beside him, posture controlled, expression neutral.
The four officials entered from another entrance, making their way to the main platform table. They took their seats—Malik Hayes in the center, flanked by Jennifer Chou and Marcus Webb on one side, Robert Zhang on the other.
Mike Ross entered last with his two assistants. They moved to a separate table positioned to the side—neither with the officials nor the defendants, but clearly in a position of authority. Mike sat while his assistants remained standing behind him.
The crowd noise gradually settled as everyone found their seats.
Malik Hayes stood, his gravelly voice carrying across the arena without need for amplification.
"Attention. We are convening an official tribunal to investigate the disappearance of Davis Brown, fighter sponsored by Executive Ross."
He gestured toward Mike Ross, who nodded acknowledgment.
"This proceeding will follow established protocols for evidence presentation and witness examination."
Malik gestured to the crowd. "You will serve as jury. At the conclusion of evidence presentation, you will render judgment on the matter."
Murmurs rippled through the audience.
"The primary suspects," Malik continued, gesturing toward Odd and Lucius, "are Odd and King. Both had potential connection to Davis Brown's disappearance."
Odd felt dozens of eyes on him. He kept his hands under the table so no one would see them shaking.
"This tribunal will proceed over the next three days," Malik explained. "Each day will consist of evidence presentation, witness testimony, and examination. At the end of day three, the jury will deliberate and vote."
Jennifer Chou stood, consulting her tablet. "Rules of procedure: Evidence must be presented by officials or designated representatives. Defendants may speak in their own defense during designated periods. Cross-examination will be permitted. All proceedings are recorded."
Marcus Webb added, "Physical violence during tribunal proceedings will result in immediate disqualification and summary judgment. Disruptions will not be tolerated."
Robert Zhang, looking uncomfortable, read from his notes: "The jury's verdict requires simple majority. Consequences will be determined based on verdict outcome."
Malik sat back down. "The tribunal will now hear opening statements. Executive Ross, as the sponsoring party, you and your representatives may present."
Mike Ross remained seated, that wide smile in place. One of his assistants stepped forward—the one who'd been carrying the tablet.
The assistant was professional, composed, speaking clearly to both the officials and the crowd.
"Thank you. On behalf of Executive Ross, we'll be presenting evidence over the next three days regarding the disappearance of Davis Brown, Executive Ross's fighter."
The assistant activated a display screen, showing Davis Brown's basic information.
"Davis Brown. Sponsored fighter. Was scheduled to compete in Round 3 Fight 3 against Odd. He disappeared sometime yesterday afternoon and has not been seen since."
The crowd leaned forward, attention focused.
The assistant continued, his tone professional and measured.
"Over the next three days, we will present evidence showing—"
---
TO BE CONTINUED